Beautiful Sacrifice (The Maddox Brothers, #3)(64)

“Nope,” Gunnar said, pulling her to his side.

Taylor shrugged and continued to smoke. Once he was finished, he pinched off the cherry, rubbed the end along the top edge of his truck bed, and then put the cigarette butt into his pocket. He pulled his knit cap further down to cover his ears, and then he crossed his arms, tucking his hands under them.

“Your nose is red,” I said, playfully nudging him.

He only offered a contrived smile, staring down Tejon Street.

Kirby and Gunnar were having their own conversation in the background, and Taylor was lost in thought. I stood next to him, feeling left out of my own party.

“You’re being unusually pensive,” I said.

Taylor puffed out a laugh. “You know I hate the big words, Ivy League.”

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” I said.

His lips pressed together, making a hard line. “I hate missing you. I hate it more every day.”

“I don’t like it either.”

He turned to me. “Then let’s do something about it. Let’s figure out a solution.”

“You mean, one that includes me moving into your condo.”

He sighed. “Okay. We’ll talk about it during the week. I don’t want to fight.”

Gunnar and Kirby’s conversation seemed forced, and they made sure not to look in our direction, probably in an effort not to eavesdrop.

“Who’s fighting?” I asked. “Just because I’m not giving in to what you want …”

He craned his neck at me. “That’s not it, and you know it.”

“It’s a big deal, Taylor. We need to think about it.”

“Oh. So, it is the moving-in-together part. You’re freaking out about it.”

“I’m not freaking out. But if I were, it’s not an unreasonable emotion to feel.”

“No, you’re right. I’m just a little more than irritated that you were all fate and meant-to-be in Eakins, and now, you’re acting like we’re moving too fast.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Did you just throw that in my face?” I left him standing alone, sitting next to Kirby on the tailgate.

Taylor began to speak, but the sounds of footsteps crunching against the snow took away his attention.

A small group of teenagers walked toward us, bumping into each other or the buildings or falling off the curb.

“Hey,” one of the guys said, smiling, “you got any weed?”

“Nope,” Gunnar said before continuing his conversation with Kirby.

Taylor began to respond to my question, but the man knocked on his truck.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” the man said to Gunnar.

Gunnar and Taylor traded looks.

Then Taylor glowered at the entire group. “Don’t touch my f*cking truck, kid.”

The man puffed out his chest, attempting some form of intimidation, but he was so wasted that he failed to look directly at Taylor. He wasn’t completely unfortunate-looking. He had a respectable amount of scruff, and his arms were built nicely enough to fill the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

“Is he high?” Kirby asked.

Gunnar shook his head. “You don’t go looking for a fight if you’re high. He’s just drunk.”

Kirby didn’t seem fazed as she watched the man sway, waiting for what he might say next.

“Move along,” Taylor said.

The man was a couple of inches shorter than Taylor, but he didn’t seem to know it. He looked over at Kirby and me. “I’m thinking about crashing your party.”

The men behind him laughed, slapping each other on the shoulders and trying just as hard as their bearded friend to stand upright.

Gunnar stepped down off the tailgate, towering over all of them. All three men took a step back.

“You have a giant,” the first man said, his chin tipped up.

Taylor’s posture instantly relaxed, and he laughed. “Yes. Yes, we do. Now, quit f*cking with us, and go back to wherever you came from.”

They chuckled among one another and began to move on, but the bearded one paused.

“Don’t you work at the Bucksaw?”

I wasn’t sure which of us he was addressing. None of us answered.

“I’ll come see you,” he said, attempting to be flirtatious while struggling to keep his balance.

“No, you won’t,” Taylor said, his jaw working under his skin.

The drunk laughed, bending at the waist to grab his knees, and then he stood up, pointing at me. “Is she your girlfriend? I’m sorry, man. I won’t steal her.”

“I’m not worried about it,” Taylor said.

“Sounds like you are,” he said, using the back corner of the truck bed to hold himself up. Then he flattened his hand on the tailgate next to where I sat.

Taylor glared at his hand. “I don’t like you touching my truck. Think about it. What am I going to do to you if you touch my girlfriend?”

“Kill me?” the guy said, trying to stand and back away.

Taylor smiled. “No. I’ll beat the hell out of you until you want to kill yourself.”

The kid paled but quickly recovered, remembering he had an audience.

He began to speak, but I cut him off, “Hey, Jack Daniel’s, you want to keep your face, don’t you?”